“Hence thereally bad feeling in the pit of my stomach,”Lyric retorted.
“Rosaline’s right,” Poppy said gingerly. “Staying in the dark isn’t going to do us any good.”
They needed to know what they were dealing with, what the threat level was, if any, so they could respond accordingly. Increase security presence at Pathfinders’ games, contact the police if need be.
Cash pressed his lips to the springy curls at the crown of Lyric’s head. “If worse comes to worst, we’ll handle it.”
With that, Rosaline double tapped on the file. A loading bar appeared, filling quickly.
The video footage was grainy, like it had been overly sharpened, and the camera was shaky. There was no sound, but the club where the video had been filmed must’ve been noisy, the place packed with people drinking and dancing. The clip was only thirty-two seconds and ten of them were wasted on—
Poppy’s heart dropped into her stomach.
The video quality was subpar but there was no mistaking the guy in the corner booth as anyone but Cash. Just like there was no mistaking that the scantily clad woman draped across his lap wasn’t Lyric, but his ex, Ashley.
Cash’s jaw dropped. “What the fuck is this?”
What the fuckwas right. On the screen, Cash fisted a hand in Ashley’s long, platinum blond hair and tugged hard. Her lips parted on a silent gasp, a moan maybe, seconds before Cash’s mouth came crashing down on hers in a kiss that made Poppy’s face burn and her stomach curdle.
She’d never liked Ashley—well, Ashley had never likedher. Poppy hadn’t had anything against her other than the fact that she didn’t much enjoy being looked at like she was a threat all because she was a woman and friends with Ashley’s boyfriend.
The video played through twice, set to a loop. After it started to replay for the third time, Lyric set the phone down on the counter with shaking hands and turned to Cash, her face disconcertingly blank.
“When was this?” she asked, voice flat.
Cash raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t—I don’t even know where this was taken.”
“The file says ‘Kasa Night Club,’” Rosaline replied coolly. “The place ring any bells, Curran?”
He shook his head. “I don’t—maybe? Before we started going to xport, the guys and I went to a bunch of different places for postgame parties. But Ashley and I broke up in January. This video’s got to be at least a year, year-and-a-half old. Why the hell would someone be sending it to Lyric? Let alone now?”
“It’s not,” Lyric whispered, shaking off Cash’s arms when she stood. She jerked her chin at her phone, the video still looping repeatedly. “I bought you that shirt. And that tattoo?” She pointed a trembling finger at the dotted lines and tiny stars on Cash’s forearm. “You told me you and Poppy got those on her birthday this year.”
Bile rose in her throat.
Lyric was right. She and Cash had gotten matching tattoos on her birthday in early June. Constellations, Gemini on Cash’s arm for her, Pisces along her shoulder blade for him.
He stiffened as he looked down at his arm. “That makes no fucking sense. I haven’t seen Ashley since we broke up.” He looked at Poppy imploringly. “Poppy, you know I haven’t seen her.”
Poppy pressed a fist against her stomach and swallowed hard. She shrugged weakly. “Cash—”
“Don’t pull Poppy into your mess, Curran,” Rosaline snapped. “And don’t ask her to lie for you.”
“I’m not asking her to lie for me.” He buried his hands in his hair and gritted his teeth. “I’m fuckingnot,okay. I would never ask her to do that.”
“And I wouldn’t lie,” Poppy promised, utterly and completely fucking lost. “I don’t know what’s happening any more than anyone else here does. This is the first time I...”
She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. This was the first time she’d seen the video? This was the first time she’d learned that Cash had—no. She couldn’t bring herself to think...that, give it credence, let alone voice it out loud.
“Lyric,baby,” Cash croaked. The skin beneath his eyes had turned pink and puffy. “Please, you have to—”
“She has towhat?” Rosaline demanded. “Listen to you lie? Fat fucking chance. Lyric doesn’t have to do a damn thing.”
“Back the fuck off, Rosaline,” he snarled. “I know you love Lyric, but news flash, so do I.”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, sticking your tongue down your ex’s throat.”
“Cut it out, both of you,” Poppy said, stepping between them. “Your arguing isn’t helping.”
